


Only a Direwolf (can love another direwolf)

by Kurohitenshi



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Death, Dark Jon Snow, F/M, Incest, King Jon Snow, Psychological Trauma, Queen Arya Stark, R Plus L Equals J, Romance, Spoilers for Book 6 - The Winds of Winter, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:14:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24611356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kurohitenshi/pseuds/Kurohitenshi
Summary: Jon and Arya reunite during the Battle of the Bastards, both of them having been proclaimed as King and Queen in the North and the Riverlands beforehand. This time, Jon vows to never be parted from Arya again.Book canon based and also inspired by Cesare/Lucrezia from The Borgias.For Jonrya Week 2020: A Dream of SpringDay 1: Spring Rebirth | DeathWarning: Mentions of Jeyne Poole's experience under Ramsay Snow. Brief Ramsay and Arya moment.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Arya Stark
Comments: 13
Kudos: 159
Collections: Jonrya Week: A Dream of Spring





	Only a Direwolf (can love another direwolf)

By the time she came of age, Arya felt as if she had lived a hundred different lifetimes. After a childhood spent on the run through the war in the Riverlands then in exile with the House of Black and White in Braavos, she found herself back in Winterfell, ruling side by side with Jon Snow, both of them with equal power.

After they vanquished the Others with the help of dragons and foreign armies led by Queen Daenerys, the Long Winter lasted years, further destroying what was already a decimated North. What the Others did not get, the bitter and unforgiving frost did. Livestock froze, grain ran out, and people succumbed to sickness and hunger. Old men smiled at their loved ones one last time as they bravely went to the wilderness for a final hunt, giving the younger generation a chance to utilise the resources that would have been meant for them.

Arya had fought with her own armies, starting from the Riverlands where the Brotherhood without Banners had reunited her with her lady mother's wight, Lady Stoneheart. Her lady mother had crowned her as Robb's heir, and his Uncle Edmure Tully had supported her because she had been the last known Stark alive.

Her brothers Robb, Bran, and Rickon had been widely known to be dead before she even left Westeros for Braavos. When Lord Reed appeared at Harrenhal with Robb's will, he confirmed to all that Sansa had been written out in the line of succession due to being married to a Lannister. The final straw had been the fact that Robb’s heir, Jon Snow, had been proclaimed dead at the Wall, a fact that had left Arya broken and numb deep inside.

And so Arya went North with her armies to avenge the brother she loved the most. They comprised of the Northern lords who had been imprisoned by the Freys, Riverland armies who voluntarily wanted to fight at her side the way that they did for her brother Robb, the Brotherhood without Banners who honoured Lady Stoneheart's proclamation of her sovereignty, and her direwolf Nymeria who led her own army of wolves that numbered in the hundreds.

Arya had been so young on that long journey to the North, a maiden flowered but more a girl than a woman. The child queen was what they had called her – Queen of the North and the Riverlands, just as her brother Robb had been King. She hadn't known what to think of it all genuinely, only that she knew she had to go North and avenge her brother Jon, as well as take back the seat of the North, Winterfell. She swore that the Boltons would be defeated and she would reclaim her lord father's castle.

With her newfound influence in the Riverlands, her lord uncle Edmure arranged for her armies to utilise several ships at the Saltpans, including the wolves led by Nymeria. It would take them straight into White Harbour where Lord Manderly was willing to receive them and bring them to Winterfell.

All that time, she had her great uncle, Ser Brynden Tully, as her closest confidant, and her old friend, Ser Gendry of the Hollow Hill, as her sworn protector and most loyal knight. And when she and her armies did the long march through the bitter snow from White Harbour to Winterfell, it had been difficult but not impossible. The wolves guided them through the snowstorms with Nymeria at the helm.

And when they reached a crest on a ridge that overlooked the snowy fields and valleys around Winterfell, it had been a shock to find the Northern armies amassed, ready for battle. There must have been thousands of them, in a long column in front of the gates of the castle. The man in black who led them rode up to the walls of Winterfell and demanded Ramsay Bolton to come out and fight him like a man.

But before Arya could see anything else, the battle had begun as Winterfell's gates opened, the Bolton army riding out in their mounted cavalry. Every colourful banner of the Northern houses flapped violently in the icy wind as the flags of the Bolton Army were raised by the opposing army.

It became bloodshed in no time as the two armies rode towards the other at the same time. The snowy fields echoed with the sound of a thousand swords clanging together, helms ringing, men grunting, screaming, and even crying.

"For Valiant Ned's daughter!" they cried out passionately as if they were ready to die for their cause, causing a chill to run down her spine. And if she didn't know any better, they might even be chanting, "For Arya Stark!"

As her own army awaited orders, Ser Brynden the Blackfish and Lord Umber advised her about what was going on as relayed to them by their scouts. The Boltons were battling a unified army of the North with a surprising number of wildlings upon their ranks. The man who led them was a terrifying commander who was dressed all in black. He was feral in the way he fought – blood-thirsty and enraged. Some even called him the King in the North.

Arya felt enraged at first, wanting to demand why another usurper was about to worsen a situation that was already complicated. But soon, as Arya commanded their contingency to ride forward so they could assist the Northerners in retaking Winterfell, their army was caught up in battle too.

The Boltons had the obvious advantage of having fresh legs, having slept the previous night in the comfort of the castle with warm sustenance to strengthen them. Against the Northern Army, they were at an advantage. But the Northern Army was just as relentless. From afar, Arya could see glimpses of the King in black as the man fought valiantly against the Boltons.

The so-called King in the North fought like one of the knights from the old stories that Jon used to love, like the Young Dragon. Even from a distance, Arya could see how skilled he was with the blade as he hacked and slashed and parried his way through the flesh and bone and blood of his enemies. He cut a path through the Bolton Army like a one-man army, clearing the way for the rest of his men. He fought from the front like a proper army commander and with every step he took forward, his men seemed to draw strength and will from him, inspired by his leadership in the field of battle.

It galvanised Arya into action as well. She turned to the men behind her. Unsheathing the sword that Jon Snow had gifted to her a lifetime ago, her eyes were as cold as the snow all around them.

"We will support the Northern army!" she cried out passionately as loud as she could so that her army of three hundred soldiers and one hundred and twenty wolves could hear her. She owed it to her lord father, lady mother, and all the brothers she had lost. She was the last Stark alive, and she was ready to fight for her lord father's Winterfell. "Draw your weapons, men and wolves! Bare your steel and fangs! Winterfell will be ours tonight! And remember that I will always fight by your side as your leader!"

Her army erupted in a deafening roar of support for her. And as one, the wolves howled together in one song. And as they did, Arya mounted Nymeria's back, Needle clasped tightly in her gloved hands.

Nymeria ran forward with bared teeth, growling angrily as Arya raised her sword high in the air, signalling for her men to follow her. And in only a few heartbeats, they were suddenly in the thick of it where soldiers battled each other ferociously, fighting to the death.

It was all chaos and destruction, blood and guts in the snow, the whiteness of winter ruined by the stench of war. She witnessed men dying as they lay in a pool of their own blood in the snow, staring up at her with tears in their eyes. It pained her beyond words and prompted her to dismount Nymeria, giving the gift of mercy to any man who was suffering in their final moments, not even caring what House crest they wore on their armour.

But soon the chaos came far too close to her as she found herself surrounded by five Bolton soldiers who had bloodthirst in their eyes and evil intentions in their hearts.

"What is a little girl doing in the middle of battle?" one demanded of her. "Unless… Are you the Lady Arya who escaped? You must be! Men, we've found her! Capture the girl!"

Gendry and Uncle Brynden fought fiercely next to her, while Nymeria and her wolves growled and bit at their enemies. But the hounds were suddenly released; they were soon facing against her wolves. In the confusion that ensued, Arya found herself dragged away from the rest of her army by at least five sets of arms. She fought with all her might and she almost escaped until another three surrounded her. Despite how quick she was, she was no match for the ten who were intent in taking her.

She hated that despite all the training she had gone through in Braavos, the one thing that they couldn't give her was the ability to fight like a seasoned soldier. Against warrior men at arms who outnumbered her, she was still a little girl in battle. Despite that, she fought tooth and nail against her captors, trying to stab them with Needle's sharp tip.

 _Stick them with the pointy end,_ Jon had told her.

But even her sword was taken from her.

Arya found herself behind enemy lines in no time, facing a man who was dressed head to toe as if he was the new Lord of Winterfell. But the crest on his armour was that of the flayed man, and Arya understood immediately that he was probably Lord Ramsay Bolton, the bastard son of Lord Roose who had been legitimised as his heir.

"You are different…" Ramsay drawled, his eyes crawling up and down her leathers and furs, making her feel uncomfortable. And when he looked into her eyes, he smirked at her, perhaps realising her true identity. "Arya Stark, the Lady of Winterfell."

She growled at him, wanting to lunge at him as if she was a direwolf. But strong arms were holding her back, making her immobile.

"Just like a wolf," Ramsay chuckled, sauntering close to her and reaching down to run his gloved fingers through her short tresses.

Arya drew away from his touch as if she had been burned. She couldn't help but think that she was betraying Jon by letting this bastard touch her hair. Only Jon was allowed to mess her hair.

Ramsay looked ugly from close proximity, and when he leaned down to peer down at her closer, the pad of his gloved thumb stroking her cheek, he purred, "You're much more beautiful than your imposter, my lady. You are a prize. I am your lord husband. I've wed your proxy, and you are mine by rights. I will enjoy breaking you tonight after the battle's been won."

Arya spat at him, glaring with murderous intent. "I heard from Jeyne Poole about what you made her go through. You're a monster, Ramsay Snow!"

Despite the spittle trickling down his cheek, Ramsay only chuckled, as if he had found a new toy he was excited with. He licked his lips, watching her hungrily. "Yes, my dear one, I am a monster. You will find out more about me soon enough."

Anger fueled her next move. Despite not ever having shared a mind with Nymeria while she was awake, Arya called out to her direwolf, commanding her to come to her with the rest of the wolf army.

She heard them before she saw them, the ear-splitting warning howl of a hundred wolves. They were so quick, their powerful jaws snapping around the limbs of the Bolton soldiers. Nymeria was at the front, so massive and menacing and fast that she tore through the throats of her enemies in record time. And right next to her was a direwolf that was even bigger, a great albino with blood-red eyes. Blood dripped down from their bared teeth and jaws as they growled threateningly.

"Ghost!" Arya shouted, her heart in her throat as she looked at the familiar white wolf with wide eyes. But how could it be possible for Ghost to live but Jon to die?

She could feel her heart breaking again as she watched Ghost and Nymeria working together, battling together as true alphas of the pack. Men fell one by one as they tore into them with their teeth until only a handful were left, close to Ramsay and Arya. And beyond the wolves, in the background, her men and the Northern soldiers came closer warily, mindful of the blood-stained muzzles of the threatening direwolves.

"Arya!" a voice cut through the chaotic and deafening noise of battle. It was a voice she recognised, so crisp and familiar as if she was back in the Winterfell of her childhood once again. But she was afraid to even hope. She had known only heartbreak and despair for so long.

_"Little sister!"_

Arya turned her head slowly, fearful of what she would see, remembering how much hope she had in her heart when they first told her about Lady Stoneheart. Instead of her lady mother, Lady Stoneheart had been terrible, a vengeful wight whose cruelty tore through the Riverlands, causing bloodshed and death almost indiscriminately.

The young man who was walking forward through the cold, snowy ground was older, taller, and wilder in appearance, dressed all in black. A long scar ran down from his forehead to his cheek, barely missing his eye. He carried what appeared to be a blood-stained Valyrian steel bastard sword with a pommel that looked like a white direwolf. He appeared very Northern with her lord father's long face, brown hair, and grey eyes.

Arya's heart stopped as their eyes met. She felt the itchy prickle of tears welling up in her eyes.

How could this be? Was this for true, or was it just a cruel jape that they were playing on her? It felt as if a dagger had been plunged into her heart, her insides feeling both empty and torn apart.

"Jon?" she whispered in a voice so soft that she knew he wouldn't be able to hear her, twenty feet away.

"How touching," a mocking voice interrupted her thoughts. Ramsay smirked at her as he cruelly grabbed a fistful of her hair. He forced his lips on hers, cruelly stealing a kiss. She was reminded of the first man who ever kissed her in Braavos when she was just a child. Just like Raff's tongue, Ramsay's was just as disgusting, as slippery as an eel.

She bit his tongue as hard as she could, cutting through flesh and muscle. A sharp metallic tang washed over her tongue as blood spilt inside their mouths, dribbling down both their chins. Ramsay's fist connected with the side of her head, making her smaller body fly off to the side as if she was nothing more than a doll.

Arya felt the frozen snow against the side of her face as her ears rang. Dazed, she heard shouts and the clang of sword against sword, making her guess that perhaps Jon was now fighting against Ramsay.

Arya was surprised that the Bolton soldier who had kept her immobile moments ago hadn't come for her, but when she looked up, she found him on the ground close to her, his wide eyes staring up into the grey Northern skies as he painfully wheezed his last breaths. His neck had been torn open by powerful jaws, his blood dripping down into the white snow underfoot.

Nymeria came to her with Ghost at her side. They helped her get back to her feet. Feeling Ghost's warm white fur beneath her fingertips almost made her cry. But she knew that it was not the time for that.

Wary, Arya observed everything around her as she quickly tried to find Needle. She found it next to the lifeless corpse of another dead soldier. Picking it up, she clutched it tightly as she focused on the battle before her.

Ramsay was telling Jon everything that Arya had learned from Jeyne Poole, the rape, torture, and abuse that the other girl had gone through. But Ramsay was instead trying to make Jon believe that it was _her_ , the real Arya who had experienced these things.

It must have stirred Jon's rage so intensely, enough to cause his fighting skills to become disjointed as he became distracted by the terrible things that he heard from Ramsay Bolton.

"Every night, your little sister was in my bed pleasing me," Ramsay bragged with a toothy grin. "You should have heard how she cried out for her big brother, bastard. My lovely little bride. But not once did you save her. After I defeat you, I will let you watch how she spreads her legs for me! Perhaps I will even let you lick her wounds just like a good wolf."

"I will cut out your heart!" Jon roared so loudly, swinging his sword wildly and intensely. The agony and anger in his voice tore at her heart. His teeth were bared as he shouted, "I will cut out your heart and eat it, bastard!"

"Liar!" Arya shouted at Ramsay, enraged on Jeyne's behalf and Jon's. "Don't listen to him, Jon!"

Jon glanced at her for a moment, as if he was surprised that she was truly there. He nodded at her, and as if realising that Ramsay was goading him by playing on his emotions, his stance became deliberate and steady as he fell back on his superior sword skills. And then he and Ramsay went at it again, sword clashing against sword, as he desperately tried to let himself ignore Ramsay's ongoing description about "Arya Stark's" ruined maidenhead during her wedding night.

In a sudden burst of both rage and skill and speed, Jon seemed to draw on a second wind, his movement so swift that Arya barely caught what he did from the sidelines. One moment, Ramsay was still mockingly describing "Arya's" torture and the next, he was on his knees, eyes wide in pain and shock. Jon's Valyrian steel sword had pierced through his abdomen, blood spraying out of his mouth and belly, onto the snow in front of him. The stench of his entrails was sickening. But Jon didn't seem to even notice.

Entranced with the intensity of his anger towards the Bolton bastard, Jon kicked away Ramsay's sword and dropped his own as well. Hovering over Ramsay Bolton, his hands wrapped around the bastard's neck with the clear intention to kill him. But as the man choked and spluttered helplessly, his arms weakly trying to push Jon away, Jon drew away at the last moment and began to rain down fist upon fist on his face, battering it into something unrecognisable.

"Jon!" Arya found her voice all of a sudden, wanting him to stop despite knowing that it was nothing less than Ramsay Bolton deserved. It was the fact that she hated that Jon was so affected by the man he had already defeated. "Stop!"

"I can't," Jon muttered, his eyes dark with murderous intent. He wouldn't meet her eyes, glaring instead at the bastard under him. His hands went back to Ramsay's throat, squeezing it with all his strength. "I can't Arya, I can't."

Arya swallowed, not knowing what she could do to help reassure Jon. Something about him had changed. Just like her, he must have seen and done things that would always affect him his entire life. Had he really died? Or was he resurrected in the same way that Lady Stoneheart had been? Had his humanity survived his death?

 _Nay,_ she thought with resolve. _Not if I could help it. I will not lose you too, Jon. Not even to darkness. Not even to the gods._

Dropping Needle next to her, she knelt on the snow next to Jon, placing her smaller hands carefully over his own. Jon's gloved hands were shaking underneath hers as Ramsay kept shuddering beneath, his blood splattering everywhere as his face was turning blue.

"Arya, you mustn't," Jon protested, still not meeting her eyes.

But Arya didn't let go, and when Jon finally forced himself to look at her, she nodded to him. "Together."

Beneath their hands, Ramsay Bolton gurgled his last breath as the rest of the Bolton army lay down their swords in surrender.

Jon stood and picked up his sword. Gesturing for Arya to move aside, his face was impassive as he swung his blade down swiftly and forcefully, separating the head of Ramsay Bolton from his body in a clean cut. Arya watched his actions, feeling suddenly numb at the violence as she stared at the bloody head rolling towards her boots, yet understanding why Jon did it. It was Northern justice, something that Arya had to do even as far away as Braavos.

"His head shall be on a spike at the gates of our castle. It will serve as a warning to our enemies," Jon declared to her, growling as he plunged his bloody sword on the snowy ground. His eyes were dark and intense. "I wanted to cut his heart out for you, little sister."

As if he was waking up from a trance, Arya watched as Jon's entire body suddenly shook as he was overcome with emotion. He quickly turned away from her, as if he was still affected by everything that Ramsay had told him. She would have to reassure him later, to tell him the story of her impostor, Jeyne Poole.

But for now, she could only be there for him. She went to him and wrapped her skinny arms around his waist, burying her face at the back of his rough black armour. It smelled like leather, blood, and sweat but she could also smell his familiar scent underneath it all. She could feel him breathing in and out and could hear the fast beating of his heart.

Jon suddenly turned around, and Arya found herself lifted from the ground as Jon held her in his arms for the first time in years, her whole body pressed so tightly against his. She threw her arms around his neck and suddenly, Jon's entire body was wracked with uncontrollable sobs, his tears soaking through her hair, crowning her head with frost.

And then, she too was crying, great ugly sobs that made her entire body tremble as she held on to Jon for dear life.

"I missed you!" they whispered desperately to each other at the same time, heartsick, relieved and happy beyond words.

***

After the battle that had the Boltons completely vanquished, their banners of the flayed man cut from the grey granite walls of Winterfell, Jon rode with Arya into the castle. Jon insisted on both of them sharing a horse together, whispering in her ear that if he could help it, she would never ever leave his side again.

Winterfell was a ruined, burnt mess, a grave insult to their lord father's memory. It was a painful truth to swallow – to finally come home to Winterfell and find it violated beyond words. She and Jon inspected the great hall and found horses and manure on its floor. The castle staff were on edge, still fearful of everything despite appearing happy to see Eddard Stark's children home again. Ramsay Bolton had been a savage of the worst kind, and the trauma he had left behind would take years to overcome.

Arya mourned the loss quietly, comforted only by her proximity to Jon, of his hand tightly entwined with hers. "It doesn't feel like home any longer," she confessed to him.

"This is just a ruined castle now. But make no mistake, little wolf," he said to her, turning her shoulders around and looking her straight in the eyes. "You are home now, little sister. You're safe with me. And no one will ever take you away from me again."

That night after servants hurriedly cleaned the great hall and cooked a modest feast for them, they sat together with the Northern lords and ladies, tired and aching from battle. And yet, despite the obvious affection and peace between both Jon and Arya, Robb's bannermen were in contention about matters of succession.

"Jon Snow cannot be king!" one spat. "Not while Lord Eddard's trueborn daughter is alive! She was already proclaimed as the queen when she was in the Riverlands!"

"Nay!" Lord Reed interjected, speaking up for the first time. "I have the will that determines King Robb's heir, and it is clear who he had chosen! Jon was proclaimed as a Stark and is his legal heir!"

"But Arya was not disinherited in the will, was she? Not like Sansa! Do you mean to make her lose her birthright as the last trueborn Stark over her bastard brother?"

"The will declares Jon as a Stark! King Robb has declared him as a Stark!"

"We all fought for Arya Stark! It was her name on all of our lips as we banded together and declared war against the Boltons! Everything else was already taken away from her! And now even a man of the Night's Watch would take precedence over her? A man who swore oaths to forsake lands and titles!"

"A girl cannot be the queen! That is absurd!"

"And yet, she led an army to battle including a pack of wolves in the hundreds. What are wolves if not the symbol of House Stark? The Old Gods are on her side!"

"And on Jon's side as well! He rose from death to win this battle! He retook Winterfell! And he has a direwolf too!"

"Enough!" Arya commanded the squabbling Northmen and Riverlords.

As if they just realised that Jon and Arya were also in the crowd, their mouths fell shut. Arya took the opportunity to reach into her travel-worn leather pack, pulling out an object that gleamed under the light of candles. She stood, clasping Robb's Winter Crown between her hands.

The entire hall seemed to gasp as one as she reached over and placed the crown upon Jon's head.

"Jon Stark is the King in the North!" she declared to them, her eyes only on Jon's.

But Jon stood suddenly before anyone could say anything, pulling the crown free from his head and putting it down on the table in front of them. "And Arya Stark is the Queen in the North!" he declared, shocking them all with his declaration. "I will be her regent until she comes of age. I cannot take away the crown from our lord father's trueborn daughter. It isn't right!"

"You are what the North needs!" Arya protested, looking up into his eyes steadily and with conviction. "You are the King, Jon."

Jon shook his head. He leaned down and put their foreheads together for a heartbeat before kissing the top of her head. He turned to the crowd. "We will rule together as brother and sister, King and Queen of the North and the Riverlands! I was proclaimed the King in the North before the commence of the battle. And Arya the Queen of the Riverlands long before that. Both the North and the Riverlands were under King Robb's command. We will rule together. From today on, Arya is your queen as I am your king!"

A deafening cheer erupted from the crowd, the entire contingency happy with the compromise. Horns and cups of mead and ale and wine crashed together as they shouted and laughed happily, feeling relief at having Ned Stark's children taking command of Winterfell.

"The King and Queen in the North! The King and Queen in the North!"

Arya felt Jon taking her hand into his, and when he looked at her, he was smiling at her for the first time since they reunited. Her heart fluttered in warmth and happiness, something inside her feeling complete and relieved – something she hadn't truly felt since the day they parted three years ago.

"Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle," Jon said to her solemnly, an echo of his words from long ago.

She launched herself into his arms, burying her face against his chest.

"Make it last," she whispered to him urgently. "I want to be with you always."

"Always," he vowed to her, holding her tighter inside the circle of his arms. "Always."

***

Through the years as they prepared for the Long Night, Jon and Arya had been inseparable. Jon commissioned for the builders to have the King's chambers connected to the Queen's chambers, to become equal in width and size and grandeur. There was one door that connected their rooms, but it was always open, and both of them freely moved about each other's quarters.

Even on the first night, Arya found herself lying on Jon's muscular arm, using it as a pillow as they talked endlessly about their experiences. They spoke about the death of their family members, about the devasting loss and injustice of it all. They talked about the war, Arya's survival in the Riverlands and Jon the North of the Wall. Jon told her the honest reality about his death, breaking her heart completely. In contrast, Arya reluctantly told him about her life in Braavos and what she had to do to get back to Westeros, and eventually, Winterfell.

Every night after was the same, both of them clinging to one another, afraid of losing one another even as they slept.

As time went on and she flowered even more into her maidenhood, Jon became more affectionate, more than he already was. He always made sure she knew how much he loved her with hugs, kisses, and fond touches to her hair, or a tickle on her neck, or around her waist.

She enjoyed his attention immensely and loved that his eyes were always just on her. He was always commenting on how pretty she was, more than when she was a little girl. In fact, now he even called her gorgeous and beautiful. It made her heart swell in a way it never did before.

It was Gendry who angrily pointed out that brothers normally didn't kiss their sisters on the lips.

Arya had scoffed at him. "I've always kissed him, even when I was a small child. Even on the lips."

"The way he looks at you, it's as if he wants to devour you. There's nothing brotherly in that," Gendry declared, looking her up and down, his eyes lingering on her curves. His face was red. "And you're practically a woman grown now."

"Thank you for noticing," Arya said, crossing her arms defensively. "I won't stop being myself with Jon of all people. I've missed him so much, and we're making up for lost time."

"If he becomes untoward to you," Gendry mumbled angrily. "You should tell me. I am still your knight, after all. I swore to protect you with my life."

"That'll never happen! Jon loves me and will never hurt me," Arya replied gloomily before shrugging her shoulders. "If you're jealous, don't be. I still like you too. But he's the only family I have left. He's very important to me."

"You told me once you could be my family," he said to her in a near-whisper. "Is that still true?"

Her eyes softened. "Of course, Gendry! You were my closest friend in the Riverlands!"

For a moment, he looked at her as if he wanted to say more as if he wanted to confess something. But he shook his head and turned away from her, showing her the broadness of his muscled back. "Go on, Arya, I know your duties await you back at the castle. You are the Queen, and the King is glaring at me from the covered bridge. You better run back to him and see what he wants."

At his words, she turned her head and grinned up at Jon, waving at him. He was looking at Gendry with annoyance, and when he noticed her grin, he smiled down at her gently and motioned for her to come up and join him.

"See you later, Gendry!" she said to her friend before running up the stairs, two steps at a time, launching herself into Jon's arms.

Jon caught her with a laugh and lifted her high enough so that she could rain kisses on his face. "Did you miss me, Your Grace?"

"Why would I miss you?" Arya teased, grinning as Jon kept carrying her inside the building, towards the King's chambers. "We've only been apart for an hour."

"Too long if you ask me," Jon said, grinning at her with mirth.

When they reached the chambers and Jon had deposited her unceremoniously on the bed, he barred the door. He then went to lie down next to her afterwards, running his fingers through her hair and looking deeply into her eyes, as if she was a puzzle he wanted to solve.

"You grow even more gorgeous every day, little sister. The marriage proposals have not stopped arriving, some coming as far as Dorne. Can you believe it?"

"Who would send a proposal from Dorne?" she wondered, laughing. "And they only send proposals because they don't know me. They'd be horrified at my lack of manners. Sansa even wrote to me from the Vale to remind me of my womanly duties and manners, as if she was now acting as Mother's substitute. She said she'll be getting married soon possibly. I don't know how that's possible. She's still married to Tyrion Lannister."

Jon scoffed, choosing to ignore her words on Sansa. He had never been close with Sansa, and he wasn't interested now just as he wasn't back then.

They were silent for a moment before Arya peered up into Jon's eyes. He was looking at her so fondly, and she felt just as entranced.

"You are almost a woman grown," Jon commented, sounding wistful. "We've both been so busy with rebuilding and getting ready for the war against the Others. Time flies by so quickly. It's been over a year since we've reunited. Every moment that I have with you is precious to me, little sister," Jon said to her, kissing her on the forehead. "I don't want to ever lose you again. No man will ever deserve you. No man is allowed to take you away from me."

"Perhaps I should be a priestess then?" she suggested with a teasing grin. "Just like Melisandre. Then no man will ever have me."

"Nay," Jon disagreed with a soft smile, running a finger down the side of her face. "You are the queen of wolves. And that is what you'll always be to me."

Arya laughed. "Perhaps you should fear me, brother. My direwolf teeth are sharper than yours."

"You think yourself tougher than your big brother?" Jon asked, sitting up and raising a brow at her. He smirked as he suddenly attacked her with his fingers, tickling her along her ribs, over the wool of her dress.

Arya shrieked in laughter, kicking at him. She tried to fight him off as best as she could, but he was so much stronger. Soon, Arya found herself pinned beneath him as he hovered over her, his hands wrapped tightly around her wrists. She laughed at him as he looked down at her smugly.

"Who is the alpha between us now, little wolf?" Jon teased.

"It's only because you're bigger," Arya reasoned, playfully pouting. "Besides, Nymeria was the alpha of her pack before she allowed Ghost to even mount her. She was a Queen before he became her King."

Jon paused, breath hitching and hands trembling a little around her wrists. He stared at her with wide eyes. "Did you…" he hesitated. "Did you have wolf dreams about that too?"

Arya swallowed nervously, nodding her head. "I dream the same thing every night."

Jon let go of her wrist and backed away from her hastily, leaving her feeling cold. "The free folk call it an abomination, warging whilst having carnal relations."

She shrugged without concern. "It's only a dream," she pointed out. "It's only our direwolves mating. It's not as if I'm me whilst I'm in Nymeria and you're you whilst in Ghost." Her eyes widened in realisation. "Unless… Do you dream the same dreams as me, Jon?"

Jon swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing. He looked at her with horror as if he had broken some sacred law set forth by the gods.

"If the gods think it's a sin, then they wouldn't have given us this ability to become one with our wolves," she informed him fiercely, trying to reassure him. Reluctantly, she added, "And besides, it wasn't a hardship to feel what Nymeria was feeling."

"Arya!" Jon protested, sounding scandalised even as he looked at her with dark, curious eyes. "How could you say that? And the fact that your first carnal experience was as a direwolf!"

"At least it was with you!" Arya countered, frowning at him as she didn't want to make a big deal out of it. "Would you rather I run to Gendry so he could show me a thing or two about it? And it wasn't even my own body! And anyway, it felt _good_. Why are you making it sound as if it was bad?"

Jon growled in anger, his eyes narrowed. "That boy shouldn't be looking at you the way he does. He swore to be your protector. That means that he should adhere to a knight's code of honour and commitment."

"He's also my friend," Arya pointed out. "He's one of my best friends."

Jon frowned deeply, looking unhappy. He turned away from her, sitting on the edge of the bed and sulking as he crossed his arms. It was so unbecoming of a king that Arya was almost amused. It was always a sore subject for him to think of her with other men. She wondered if Ramsay's false words had an effect on him. Even as she tried to reassure him that Ramsay never touched her, he would only run the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip, telling her angrily that one kiss from the bastard had been enough for him to wage war for her.

Arya sat up and wrapped her arms around Jon's broad shoulders, draping her body against his back as she tried to comfort him. She leaned forward and rained little kisses on his face, making sure to not miss his lips. He always loved it when she kissed him, even when they were children. "You're the one I love the most though, Jon. I swear it."

Jon's rigid body melted at her kisses and he pulled her into his lap, cradling her close and kissing her face in the same way that she had kissed him moments ago. His butterfly kisses on her lips lingered, but soon, they were both laughing together once more as he tickled her once again. "I love you the most too, little sister. No man or woman will ever come between us. Not ever again."

***

By the time Bran and Rickon returned to Winterfell, Arya's relationship with Jon had become a lot more intimate. It all started during one of Nymeria's heats. Arya had been so affected by the direwolf connection she had with Nymeria, the same way Jon had been by Ghost.

Jon took care of her hot and needy body. He divested her of her clothes and worshipped every inch of her with his tongue. Soon, his mouth was kissing her between her legs, and she was practically in tears at the pleasure he was giving her. When his tongue entered the narrow entrance of her drenched slit, she found herself crying out to the gods, wanting more of him. It felt so much better than the wolf dreams.

The same night, Jon took her maidenhead for his own, giving in to the wolf instincts he had denied for so long. He had been so obsessed with her ever since they reunited. But it had been nothing compared to the way he had taken her every which way that night, going so far as to spill his seed again and again inside her body.

They both knew that they shouldn't have done what they did. But the more they denied themselves, the sweeter it seemed to be for them. Was it because it was forbidden that it became her heart's desire?

"Do you truly think it's against the gods, Jon?" she asked him afterwards as he stroked her hair, his naked body pressed against hers from the back.

"Only a direwolf can love another direwolf," he whispered, pressing his lips against her nape and making her shiver. "They already whisper it of us, little sister. Why deny ourselves the pleasure for which we were already accused?"

During the day, Arya and Jon remained as physically close to each other as before, readily touching, hugging, and kissing but only as siblings would. Still, Bran seemed to always be watching them, as if he had an inkling of what was going on behind closed doors.

"I am supposed to be the king," Bran pointed out to Jon one night after Rickon had gone to bed. There was wisdom in his eyes that was very apparent, sharpened by his training as a greenseer. "I was the Prince of Winterfell who had already ruled in Robb's place. Why do you deny me my birthright?"

Jon looked at Bran with guilt before tearing his gaze away. He looked aggrieved. "Right now, the North needs a king who could lead them into battle. The dead are coming. Winter is coming. Could you lead men into battle?"

"That is an excuse," Bran pointed out sullenly. "You could be the general of my armies. I could make you a lord of a holdfast. The Dreadfort needs a lord now. I am the rightful king as Eddard Stark's trueborn son. You know this, but you've become drunk with power. And you disgust me. You think I don't know what you do to my sister? How you bed her every moment that you could?"

Despite all the training she had to control her emotion, Arya couldn't help but gasp in shock, truly mortified to be found out so easily by her brother Bran. As far as she knew, she and Jon had been careful to hide the evidence of their carnal activities in the bed they shared. And then she realised that Bran needed no spies. Due to his abilities, he only had to look into his green dreams or to skinchange into a bird and peer into the windows of the King's chambers. Her entire face felt warm as she looked away from Bran, feeling guilty.

And yet, she couldn't help but defend Jon. "It didn't feel like a sin. It had always felt right to me. For a long time, it was just Jon and me. We were the last of the Starks. And when our direwolves started mating, it felt so right…"

Bran raised his voice, "But he isn't even a Stark!"

"He is to me!" Arya protested. "He will always be my brother, a Stark. And yet, it still feels right to me, what has happened between the both of us."

Bran shook his head before glaring at both of them. "There is one other truth that you must know. Something that Lord Reed should have told you a long time ago," He cleared his throat before revealing, "Jon, the mother you have never known is none other than Lady Lyanna Stark. And your father is Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. And so, the truth of it is that you cannot be the King in the North."

Jon rose swiftly in his anger, knocking over the chair he had been sitting on. His hands had balled into fists, shaking at his sides. "Is this another lie? I will give you back your birthright after the war, Bran. But leave me and Arya alone. We have found happiness with one another after so long. Why must you ruin it for us?"

"Ask Lord Reed, and he will tell you the truth of it. He has proof of your parentage. Shouldn't that make you happy? It opens up the possibility for the two of you to marry. And it gives me back what I deserve as Robb's rightful heir."

Jon and Arya said nothing to him, both of them staring at each other as realisation dawned on them. What if Bran was telling the truth? If they were actually cousins and not brother and sister? Then that meant…

***

Bran made a match of them after the end of the Long Night. As Jon passed the crown to him as king, he announced Jon's true parentage to the people of the North. And upon Lord Reed's divulging of the sealed documents that proved that Jon had been born as Prince Rhaegar's bastard son, Bran reiterated that Jon Stark he would always be, as he had been legalised as a highborn by King Robb.

The Long Night had lasted for over a year. Winterfell became a host to a Targaryen queen and her dragons, a proclaimed dragon king who later became their enemy, and a contingency of other lords and ladies, knights, smallfolk, armies, and creatures great and small. Jon had commanded the combined forces of Westeros like a true king, side by side with Arya as his warrior queen.

The war had nearly decimated the population of the North, towns and villages overrun with wights. The final stand had been at Winterfell with the combined effort and cooperation from all over the land. It was where Lannister and Targaryen and Stark had fought shoulder to shoulder for the first time in years, against a common enemy. It was the war where Bran's greenseering gave them guidance and knowledge on their war tactics, and where Gendry's superb smith skills had aided them as he led the effort to forge both dragonglass and Valyrian steel weapons. It was where even Sansa managed to make her mark, sending food supplies all the way from the Vale where she now ruled as its Lady.

It was also where they lost so many of their loved ones – kin and friends and allies.

After the Long Night, only five remained of the alliance that had formed: Jon, Arya, Bran, Tyrion, and Daenerys.

At the height of the battle, the man who called himself Aegon Targaryen flew on dragonback and fled south to King's Landing, eager to take advantage of his rival and lover Daenerys's efforts to aid in the war against the Others. The sudden loss of one of their dragons proved deadly, and soon, Winterfell became overrun.

In battle, they lost so many, including one person she loved as if he was her own family: Gendry who fought next to her and defended her until his dying breath.

The final battle had been at the godswood where Jon had battled the leader of the Others, his Valyrian steel sword clashing against the Night King's as the White Walkers tried to get to Bran. Arya had been right beside Jon the entire time, both of them guarding each other's backs. Jon kept shouting at Arya, telling her to take Bran away so they could hide out safely, but she was too stubborn.

By what seemed like sheer luck, with the distraction of the dance of dragons in the sky, Jon head-on attacking the Night King from the front, and Bran warging into an enemy dragon to burn their enemies, Arya crept behind the Night King, as silent as a mouse just like she had been trained. And while Jon slashed at the Night King in a one-on-one fight, she crept close enough to drive the tip of the Cat's Paw dagger from behind, deep into where his heart should be. With her distraction, Longclaw was suddenly thrust so deeply into their enemy, straight into his cold dark heart. The Night King fell to his knees, staring at both Jon and Arya who went to stand together side by side, their swords raised together.

That was the night when the Others were defeated.

They mourned for a week, burning the dead. But the Northerners insisted on celebrating too, which included their wedding at the godswood when Bran finally allowed Arya to be wed to Jon. It was a bittersweet event, sombre and beautiful with the smell of fresh snow and funeral ash in the air.

And yet it had been happy too. Arya had been dressed in a beautiful white silk gown that clung to her womanly curves, with pearls and Myrish lace sown into it. An embroidered grey cloak with white fur along its collar covered her shoulders, fastened at her throat with a silver direwolf clasp. Her hair had been loose but braided in the Northern style, with winter roses woven into it. Jon wed her at the heart tree, cloaking her. They said their vows to one another loudly so that the Old Gods and the people of the North could witness their union.

The Long Winter continued on in its harsh brutality, yet the end of the war was far from over. As they had promised to their Dragon Queen benefactor, Jon and Arya donned their furs and winter armour once more and sharpened their swords yet again, travelling South with their allies. Just as Queen Daenerys Targaryen had aided them in the war against the Others, they journeyed with her southward to help her retake what was rightfully hers.

Arya had been instrumental in leading the Dragon Queen's forces through the secret tunnels beneath the Red Keep. Jon kept close to her the entire time until fire started to rain from above. When the dance of dragons ensued, they got separated momentarily.

It had been the dragons of Aegon and Daenerys, and the third had been a dragon whose will had been controlled by Euron Greyjoy and his dragon horn. Two of the three had been Daenerys's own children once, but they had been stolen from her by her enemies.

And then, it was revealed that Cersei Lannister had left one last gift for them which ignited as the dragons overhead set fire to one of the buildings in the Red Keep. Jade green flames made of wildfire erupted from deep underground, quickly spreading towards the walls and buildings and people of King's Landing. Everything burned amidst the screaming, and the air was so thick with eye-watering smoke that it was difficult to breathe.

Jon and Arya managed to find each other despite the confusion. They escaped the flames - but only just. The war had caused all three dragon riders to perish and a part of the city to become embers and ash.

After the battle, the high lords and ladies of Westeros had a council to decide the fate of their kingdom. And during that council, the Dragon Queen's will had come into play.

Barren, unable to bear a child of her own, Daenerys Targaryen recognised Jon Stark as her own kin, the last remaining dragon aside from her. And in her will, she named him as her heir, to take her place if her life was cut short.

Jon of Houses Stark and Targaryen became the King of the Seven Kingdoms with his wife Arya Stark by his side as his Queen. Together, because of the controversy surrounding the burning of the capital by Targaryen dragons, they formed a new house: House Stargaryen so that they could start a new legacy together.

They combined their arms together, a dragon and a wolf side by side. And when they looked at it for the first time, stitched onto a banner hung on the wall of their chambers, they laughed together, reminded of another time.

_Jon chuckled. "Perhaps you should do the same thing, little sister. Wed Tully to Stark in your arms."_

_"A wolf with a fish in its mouth?" It made her laugh. "That would look silly. Besides, if a girl can't fight, why should she have a coat of arms?"_

_Jon shrugged. "Girls get the arms but not the swords. Bastards get the swords but not the arms. I did not make the rules, little sister."_

***

"Good morning," Jon mumbled against the hollow of her neck, his teeth lightly biting and licking against a sensitive pulse point. It made her squirm as she moaned sleepily. "My lovely wife."

Arya pushed his shoulders away, grinning at him playfully and stealing a kiss before rising and going towards the window to watch the sunrise from the east. Her heart fluttered at seeing the cherry blossoms drifting down from the pink trees, falling like snow towards the green grass of the garden. Perhaps today was the day when the Long Winter ended, and the first day of Spring arrived.

Jon went to her, wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing his solid body against her bare back. He leaned down to nip at her ear. "Are you trying to give our people a show, my wild little wolf? Any man at the garden who would glance up would be able to see their queen's lovely… jewels," he chuckled, his hands running up her body, squeezing around the curves of her breasts.

"Then let them look," Arya teased. "It's mine to do with as I please."

Jon said nothing, his eyes dancing with mirth. He picked her up all of a sudden, carrying her back to bed.

"But truly, it is mine?" Jon asked as he hovered above her, his body nestled between her thighs.

"Yours," Arya admitted, smiling up at him with all her love. "Always yours."

Jon grinned at her before kissing her deeply just as he pressed closer, letting their bodies meld as one. Their moans were swallowed inside their mouths. As they began to rock together, Jon whispered to her, "Just as I'm yours, little wolf. Always yours."

***

The world had gone from ending fast to a crawl as all of Westeros were focused on rebuilding.

A year after they were crowned as the King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Spring was in full bloom, the lands around the newly reconstructed massive castle covered in a carpet of flowers, its walls adorned in flowering vines. A feast was celebrated for the first time in Harrenhal where they had moved the capital of the Seven Kingdoms. The land had recovered and for the first time, there was an abundance in the harvest.

Bran, Sansa, and Rickon travelled to Harrenhal where they had a family reunion for the first time in years. Lords and ladies from all across the land came as well to pay their respects, bearing gifts for the heir that she had delivered three moons ago, their future king who was a product of Jon and Arya's love for one another.

It was a time of plenty, a time of peace. It was their dream of Spring.


End file.
